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July SpreeMails - a list by spreenewyork

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A collection of our latest and greatest finds on SpreeMail.

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I am notorious for not knowing I own a vibrator. Really. God's honest truth. I am, perhaps, the only human in the civilized- or at least electric outlet accessible- world who did not know that the Hitachi Magic Wand was not just for the back.

I used mine on my back. A lot. And sometimes my neck. I never worked any magic elsewhere. Never crossed my mind. Did I mention that I'm IRISH Catholic? The naive kind?

Worse, I carried it around in public- like through airports.

I would even go so far as to leave it flagrantly displayed on top of all of my clothes in my luggage so that customs officials had to MANUALLY extract it and hold it up while rummaging through the rest.

All the while? I was clueless it was a vibrator. A well-known vibrator. In fact, I did everything but use it as a jump rope in terms of displaying it publicly. What can I say? A decade of Irish dancing jigging' injuries left me with a lot of aches and pains. In Catholic places. Like my lower back.

I really loved that 'ol wand.

And then in a moment I will never forget, I saw it. On tv. In a Sex and the City episode. Only Samantha didn't have any Irish dancing jigging injuries....

I can still feel the sensation of the reel of mental snapshots smacking me back and forth about my head.... all the moments in which I flounced around, all but swinging my - what I now realized was a- SEXUAL STIMULATOR around like the boa of a transgender Cher in a Pride Parade.

Of course I did what any good Irish Catholic aging schoolgirl would do. I reached for a drink. Then followed that with several more.

But that's not quite the end of that saga. Noooo. There was one last chapter for the Magic Wand... a chapter so ripe with hellbound symbolism I have to laugh. Well, now that I escaped it alive anyway.

I set myself on fire with it.

Yes, on fire. Real flames. An actual dousing with liquid was even involved. It was fairly close, I would say, to self-immolation.

Here's the deal- I was sitting at my desk at home. My back hurt. Again, I ALWAYS USED THIS AS A BACK MASSAGER. I swear. As further proof of that, the inferno happened as a result of me CROSSING MY LEGS. Unbeknownst to me, a foil gum wrapper had attached itself, like a tiny mint Joan of Ark, to the bottom of my shoe. It released itself above the computer's power strip, a shiny kamikaze Wrigley pilot on a mission to destroy the Sin Stick.

A whole bunch of bad things happened (including the shorting out of my computer) and then I realized I smelled smoke. Like burning-denim smoke. Looked down.

My pants were on fire.

Really, if I wrote these things down for a movie they would be unreal. In my actual life, though, they are what I call "the usual." I have a very visually symbolic life. It's a bit exhausting to keep up with.

At any rate, why am I telling you this? No good reason, really. Just that when I saw this Ipod Vibrator attachment, my first thought was, "Oh thank God I came across this ad. If someone had handed one to me I would have thought it was for karaoke."